Steel sang in the cavern.
The ring of blades clashing echoed through the hollowed stone, sharp and harsh, like the friction of thunder in a bottle. Dust swirled in the glow of torchlight, and the air stank of sweat, iron, and fraying tempers.
Thorne ducked, rolled, and came up swinging. His sword nearly grazed Daas’s shoulder, but the older male parried with practiced ease, his brow furrowed in concentration—or frustration.
They’d sparred together a thousand times. But never like this.
“Again,” Daas barked.
Thorne narrowed his eyes but obeyed, launching forward. Their blades collided, a clash of force and fury, but it wasn’t training anymore. Not really. This wasn’t about keeping their edge sharp.
It was about the girl.
About Amariel.
And the soul that now lived inside Evanna.
“Yo
